I'm going soon to California for the summer, and I'm worried about the language problem. It is by now a familiar idea, even if it came alarmingly from philosophers, that the words available to us affect, not just what we do, but how we think about what we do.

The jaunty title and cover of Melissa Bank's first fiction are somewhat misleading, as they suggest that Bank's heroine, Jane, is some kind of Annie Proulx-inspired tough girl, heading out into the Adirondacks to reel in a few trout or bring down some grouse. In fact the wilderness Jane inhabits is New York City, and what she's hunting and fishing for are men. The book's back copy suggests Helen Fielding as a literary relation, and for once that claim is fairly made. Bank's wry, affable stories trace Jane's progress from curious suburban adolescent to singleton in the city, negotiating faithless boyfriends, frustrating publishing jobs, and the marriages of close friends.